


these new flocks are nothing but vultures

by GreyishBlue



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aggressive snuggles, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Except without the sex, Like barely but a bad guy bites it, M/M, Minor Violence, Sex Pollen, hand-wavy science
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 13:49:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21339265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyishBlue/pseuds/GreyishBlue
Summary: The mission is going… really badly. Clint tries to tell himself it’s fine, but two explosions and being slathered in the expanding foam from one of his own arrows feels like a ‘really badly’ kind of deal. He had technically hit what he was aiming for, a small round canister that was spewing out shockingly blue fog. His arrow worked exactly as intended, thanks very much, just... too well. Way way too well.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 38
Kudos: 153
Collections: Winterhawk Bingo





	1. don't mind me, i'm just a son of a gun

**Author's Note:**

> Title from some sweet sweet Fall Out Boy
> 
> Winterhawk Bingo Square: Specialty Arrows

The mission is going… really badly. Clint tries to tell himself it’s fine, but two explosions and being slathered in the expanding foam from one of his own arrows feels like a ‘really badly’ kind of deal. He had technically hit what he was aiming for, a small round canister that was spewing out shockingly blue fog. His arrow worked exactly as intended, thanks very much, just... too well. Way way too well. The canister is swamped in the foam, it isn’t spewing anything now, just… the rest of the room, one dead evil science guy, himself, and Barnes are also covered in the sticky, gooey mess. Clint wonders briefly if maybe he can blame the arrow’s calibration on Tony before he forces himself to focus on the situation at hand. 

He thinks maybe he got it in time? He’d taken a moment to shoot the AIM scientist down after he threw the metal ball at Barnes, so the fog had a few seconds to envelop his mission partner. Thankfully the guy just looked really annoyed, not hurt. To be fair, he always kind of looked annoyed so maybe that wasn’t even Clint’s fault. He hopes. He reaches a hand up to try to wipe the worst of the gunk away from his own ears and face before he calls out to Barnes, “Are you okay, man?”

Instead of scoffing at him like usual, Barnes just whips around to glare at Clint like a predator zeroing in on a kill. The effectiveness of his glare is cut a little by his hair being weighed down and plastered to his face, but it still sends a very confusing shiver down Clint’s spine. When he finally replies, his voice is a deep rasp, “Yeah. M’fine.”

Clint chooses to ignore what that tone of voice does to him with just a couple words. If he just ignores it hard enough it’ll definitely not be a thing that happened. Instead of thinking about it, he slogs his way toward the entryway of the lab. His feet stick stubbornly to the ground as he half slides, half hops until he can finally lean his foam covered shoulder against the door to push it open. It makes an obscene squelching sound as it swings open to the hallway, and it takes Clint a herculean effort not to chuckle at it. 

Once he’s clear of the room he glances back to find that Barnes is following him, still all steely eyed and brooding, but looking flushed and a little sweaty. When their eyes meet, there’s something a little hungry looking back at Clint, and he has to look away quickly. It’s awkward, trying to avoid the heat behind the look Bucky had thrown him. Thankfully it’s not a long way out of the building. They’re met at the outer doors by a hazmat team, Nat standing in front of them all with one of those big yellow suits covering her entirely. Clint sighs before she even says anything, squishes his way over to the decontamination shower that’s been hastily put together without any prompting.


	2. i'm just a problem that doesn't wanna be solved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At first he strips his clothes off without a second thought, but after his vest and shirt are piled on the floor, he gets that nebulous sense of being watched that’s gotten him out of more dangerous situations than it’s got any right to. He turns slowly, trying to locate the source, his hands still fumbling to unzip and remove his pants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Winterhawk Bingo Square: Clint gets naked on a mission

At first he strips his clothes off without a second thought, but after his vest and shirt are piled on the floor, he gets that nebulous sense of being watched that’s gotten him out of more dangerous situations than it’s got any right to. He turns slowly, trying to locate the source, his hands still fumbling to unzip and remove his pants.

It’s definitely Barnes, who’s standing as far away as he can manage, also half stripped down. He’s got his shirt loosely hanging from those metal fingertips like he’s forgotten he’s holding it, and his eyes are stuck on Clint’s exposed skin. The red flush that was on his face before has traveled all the way down his chest, and his breath is coming harshly, almost panting. Clint is pretty sure a half naked, sweat slick, panting super soldier is top three on the list of hottest things he’s ever seen, but he manages to talk himself out of that train of thought and lands on concern for his teammate instead. “You don’t look so good, Buck.” Absolute lie, he looks amazing. Whatever. Clint doesn’t spare any time to wondering when the guy went from Barnes to Bucky in his head.

Bucky shakes his head like he’s trying to clear a fog from his mind, then slowly puts his words together, struggling a little, “I’m fine.” He’s gritting it out between clenched teeth and is very clearly not fine.

“You’re very clearly not fine.” Clint takes a step toward Bucky, holds out a hand like maybe he can help the guy stand more upright or something? He’s not really sure what would help but this seems to at least be a productive direction. 

Bucky stumbles away, his back hits one of the plastic containment tarps, and he hisses, “Barton. Clint. Don’t. I got dosed with something.”

Clint stops, because he’s all about respecting boundaries and also not catching any weird laboratory infections from teammates during missions, “Okay, stopping. Got it. What can I do? Nat?” He turns to look through the layers of plastic and glass at Natasha to see she’s already got a Starkpad out with her fingers flying. He relaxes minutely, trusts that with her on it there’ll soon be an answer if there’s a way to find one. 

Bucky struggles his way out of the rest of his clothes and makes it under the shower, his whole body shaking slightly and Clint has to look away before he’s back to inappropriate thoughts. He focuses on stripping himself down, huddles under the harsh spray of his own shower and tries his best to get the futzing foam gloop out of his hair. He can barely make out a murmur of Natasha talking animatedly to someone, and he spares a moment to thank Tony for this new set of apparently both foam and water resistant hearing aids. 

The water is, very rudely, cut off just as he almost sort of has a relaxing moment under it. He blinks the moisture out of his eyes and gives his best kicked puppy look out at Natasha. It does exactly nothing. He sighs, then hears the crackle of her voice coming in over the comms, “Bruce thinks that Barnes got hit with a gas that’s meant to be poisonous, but it’s not effecting him correctly because of the serum. It was the blue airborne fog, he’s metabolizing it already. We don’t know much else right now, but we’re testing what we can. Stand by.”

While Clint tries to use the threadbare fabric they’re calling a towel to dry off, he catches a sound that’s barely a whimper. It’s coming from Bucky, who’s swaying on his feet, still naked and not even reaching for a towel. His mouth moves, but the sound doesn’t make it out. Still, Clint’s read a few lips in his day, and Bucky’s mouth seemed to shape his name. He grabs another barely-a-towel and moves carefully into Bucky’s space, holds it out at arms length. 

The hesitance in Bucky’s form is clear, but he reaches out and takes the towel from Clint. Their fingers barely brush, and a full body shiver flows across Bucky’s skin. He jolts back like just that small touch burned him. His eyes are swallowed by the black of his pupils, only a thin sliver of that storm cloud grey left visible. When he holds the towel quickly against his waist, Clint suddenly has a few uncomfortable realizations.

Bucky looks devastatingly turned on, Bucky is startlingly focused on him, Clint wants desperately to do something about it, and Natasha is still watching them wearily through the few layers of plastic and glass separating them from the hazmat team. He clears his throat loudly, taps against an ear to make sure the comms will pick him up, “Nat, uh. I think I figured out a symptom.” He ignores the half furious, half pleading look from Bucky.

“Go ahead.” Nat is professional and crisp as ever, but Clint could swear he can hear her smirking.

“There might be an. An increased libido effect?” Clint knows his voice sounds wavery in the face of Bucky’s now-definitely-murderous stare. The prolonged quiet from the other side of the comms weighs down the air between them as Clint does his best to hold his own in a glaring between assassins contest. 

“Confirmed. Bruce says it might be his body trying to burn through the substance.” A few shuffling sounds and some typing later, she adds, “They’re running some scenarios through JARVIS, the most likely outcome is heat stroke if it continues unabated. Barnes, is there anything that’s helped calm it so far?” Her voice changes to something a little soothing when she’s addressing Bucky. Clint kind of admires her all over again for the kind ways she’ll use her skills when she wants to.

Bucky turns his glower toward the gathered hazmat team that’s milling around not doing a hell of a lot but waiting at this point. A few of the weaker-willed step back under the force of his glare. When he doesn’t somehow get his way through grumpy face, he sighs deeply, fails to keep the tremble out of his voice, “When Clint touched me.”


	3. don't stop, don't stop till your heart goes numb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint makes a squeaking sound that he immediately tries to cover unsuccessfully with a manly cough. He’s still standing just a few paces away, and there’s a vulnerability in Bucky’s downturned eyes that makes Clint take a step closer. There’s fine tremors running across Bucky’s body, like he’s trying to hold still but can’t quite manage it. He figures the guy has to really be feeling terrible to ask for help, so he faces Nat with a shrug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Winterhawk Bingo Square: Snuggly Bucky

Clint makes a squeaking sound that he immediately tries to cover unsuccessfully with a manly cough. He’s still standing just a few paces away, and there’s a vulnerability in Bucky’s downturned eyes that makes Clint take a step closer. There’s fine tremors running across Bucky’s body, like he’s trying to hold still but can’t quite manage it. He figures the guy has to really be feeling terrible to ask for help, so he faces Nat with a shrug. Her voice is steady across the comms, “Confirmed. Barton?” The professional detached tone doesn’t go with the questioning tilt of her head, but they’ve lived and worked together long enough for him to know what she’s asking without any extra awkward questions.

It’s definitely kind of iffy, and he’s had thoughts of wanting to touch Bucky, but he’d hoped for a better reason than ‘not fry Bucky’s brain out of his skull’. He nods at Nat and watches as she briskly gets the area cleared. When they’re alone, Clint turns back to where Bucky is leaning against the wall trying not to pant, “You alright with this, Barnes?” He sees the way Bucky cringes at that name, corrects himself, “Bucky.”

Bucky reaches out almost immediately at the sound of his name, hand hovering over Clint’s forearm as he whispers, “Please?” Clint nods and suddenly he’s being pulled in, pressed flush against Bucky’s chest. Clint gets wrapped tightly in his arms, one cool metal, the other almost burning hot like the rest of Bucky’s skin. It’s all he can do to brace a hand against the wall behind Bucky, lets the other fall to Bucky’s hip to steady them both. 

Clint breathes in the harsh chemical smell left in Bucky’s hair from the fuckery of this mission, tucks his face into the crook of Bucky’s neck regardless. He’s not exactly sure what he expected out of agreeing to help a touch starved and turned on Bucky Barnes, but this isn’t quite it. Bucky’s hands are soothing up and down Clint’s back, fingers tracing muscles greedily. Clint can feel every bit of Bucky plastered against his front, just a few awful towels between them, but Bucky is keeping his hips still. It would be a little maddening if it were just about any other situation.

When Clint starts rubbing soothing circles into Bucky’s side, he’s rewarded with a soft sigh he can feel against his shoulder. There’s still a frantic edge to how tightly Bucky’s holding onto him, how his fingertips skim across the lines of his biceps and back, but he’s slowing down. His breath is still coming in deep lungfulls, but he’s not gasping for it. Bucky turns in, lets his face rest against Clint’s neck. It tickles, but Clint is absolutely going to be a good teammate about this and not laugh, and not think about Bucky’s stubble scratching against anywhere else. 

Clint is almost overwhelmed being held and caressed with this kind of intense focus. He’s getting close to making a stupid joke to cut the tension that’s building in his gut, when Bucky pulls back a few inches, just enough to look over at him. The obvious relief across Bucky’s face mixed with the smile just barely tugging at the edges of his lips has Clint’s everything doing a weird little flip flop. Clint attempts his best dashing grin and asks, “Better?”

Bucky looks less shaky, but he’s still far warmer than normal. He nods and half mutters, “Yeah, can we sit?” It takes a little shifting and some awkward readjusting of the stupid towels, but they manage to settle on the floor. Bucky gathers Clint into his lap so they’re back to front, and his hands continue their roaming patterns. It’s not actually more sexual than it was before, but Clint can barely control the little gasps that keep trying to escape his throat with Bucky’s mismatched fingertips dragging across his chest and stomach. 

Bucky seems to be getting what he needs this way, and he’s kept himself from crossing a line that Clint knows he’s looking at a little blurry eyed. In an effort to calm himself, Clint asks the first thing that comes to mind, “Wanna go out for coffee after this?” When Bucky’s hand tightens hard against his hip, Clint groans at his own stupidity. Probably the worst way ever to ask someone, much less an actual co-worker, out. 

Bucky’s hand keeps moving, maybe pressing in a little harder now as Bucky thinks way too long about Clint’s impulsive question. Just as Clint’s getting back to high-strung, Bucky answers, “A date?” The words come out in a devastating mix of vulnerable and hopeful, and Clint nods immediately. Bucky presses a chaste kiss to the juncture of Clint’s neck and shoulder, “Sure, feel like I owe you one after this.”

Clint turns to reassure Bucky that there’s no owing of any kind, only to stutter into blushing quiet when he sees the teasing grin Bucky’s aiming at him. The guy is gorgeous with his eyes sparkling, sweat beaded across his face and a pink flush across his cheeks. Clint huffs and settles back against him so he doesn’t do anything stupid like kiss the grin off of Bucky’s face. He decides to be as comfortable as possible until Nat comes back with a cure or this absolutely the best poison ever wears off on it’s own.


End file.
